Dedicatory Sonnet to Sir Anthony Cooke

Here my Camelion Muse her selfe doth chaunge
to diuers shapes of gross absurdities,
and like an Antick mocks wth fashion straunge
the fond admirers of lewde gulleries.
Your iudgement sees wth pitty, and wth scorne
The bastard Sonnetts of these Rymers bace,
Wch in this whiskinge age are daily borne
To their own shames, and Poetrie's disgrace.
Yet some praise those and some perhappes will praise
euen these of myne: and therefore thes I send
to you that pass in Courte yor glorious dayes;
Yt if some rich rash gull these Rimes commend
Thus you may sett this formall witt to schoole,
Vse yor owne grace, and begg him for a foole.